


Shaking

by spocksandsandals



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Heavy Angst, M/M, Pianist Sirius, Remus and Tonks's Wedding, Sirius Black Lives, Sirius Needs a Hug, good luck :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 02:43:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3633696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spocksandsandals/pseuds/spocksandsandals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sirius makes it out of the department of mysteries alive and attends Remus and Tonks's wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shaking

“Sirius?”

“Yes?” He flicked his wand and another plate began to wash itself.

“T...” Remus took a deep breath, struggling to get the words out. “Uh, there’s really no delicate way to say this. Tonks wants to marry me.”

“What?” The washing-up spell faltered, and a fork slipped from under the sponge, clattering against the porcelain.

“Tonks wants her and I...to get married.”

“You and her? Get married? When?”

“Only a couple month’s time, surely. She told me she’d loved me since she first ever saw me, and I...I suppose the feeling’s mutual. She keeps trying to convince me that my...condition doesn’t matter to her and she...she absolutely insists that we get married, even in the middle of all this. I’ve told her I’m too old, I’m too poor, too dangerous...but, she’s nearly the most stubborn witch I’ve ever met,” Remus said with a laugh. “So, we’re getting married in July.” He looked doubtful.

Sirius felt like someone had squeezed his heart until it had popped in his chest. Nausea washed over him and tears stung behind his eyes. He took a deep breath, forcing a smile onto his face. “That’s great,” he said, his voice sounding more monotonous than he meant it to. “I’m gonna go for a walk.” He grabbed his wand from the table and briskly walked out the door.

The dished clattered in the sink.

Three months later, Sirius straightened his jacket and his tie, and fixed his hair once more. If he was going to attend the wedding of the man he loved, he certainly wasn’t going to look as if he’d gotten no sleep, screaming and crying all night. He’d certainly put the silencing charm on his bedroom to some use that night, that was for sure.

He thought of Remus, all dapper for the wedding he seemed to wish he wasn’t having. All dressed up in suit and tie instead of a sweater that was too small for him, but fit Sirius just fine. He would have had to get the suit tailored, for his ridiculously long and lanky—no, he wasn’t a teenager anymore; he wasn’t lanky anymore. He wasn’t stolen kisses and soft handfuls of wavy strawberry blond hair behind the curtains of his bed whilst Peter and James were sleeping. He wasn’t virginity lost under that maple tree by the lake the day before the summer holiday. He wasn’t notes sent across the Potions classroom with heart doodles and I love you’s scribbled on them. He was Professor Remus John Lupin, and soon-to-be husband of Nymphadora Tonks.

And that broke Sirius’s heart.

His eyes drifted to his bedside table, on which there was a framed photo of James, Peter, Remus and him in their sixth year, smiling and laughing. He remembered that day crystal clear.

“Take the picture, Evans! Come on!” He’d yelled at the redheaded girl behind the camera. His arms were draped across Remus’s and James’s shoulders, and a huge grin was plastered across his youthful face. He turned to look in the mirror, and his face was weathered by the war, by Azkaban, by a love that could have been so much more. He wished he’d grown more smile lines than worry lines, stronger crows feet than frown lines.

His chest ached with regret. He should have never gone out that night. He should have stayed home with Remus and drank tea and danced to Muggle music and been happy and in love. Then maybe he wouldn’t have been framed. Then maybe Remus wouldn’t have spent 12 years harboring the idea that Sirius had been a traitor. Maybe Remus wouldn’t have come to love someone else. Maybe he would be the one slipping a ring on Remus’s finger today. If only he had just stayed home.

He grabbed the mug from the bedside table (of the bed that once belonged to him and Remus, the one that had been such a warm, safe space in the coldness of the war, which was now so achingly lonely) and smashed it against the wall with a strangled scream and a sob. The only person who’d ever come to love him, a queer, fucked-up, pureblood, drama queen, douchebag, and he’d lost him. If only he had just stayed home.

Hot tears streamed down his face and he slid down the wall. Bursts of heartache erupted from him in the form of silent sobs. He was shaking on the floor, his breathing unsteady. He took another shaky breath, this one deeper, and decided to leave the shards of the mug on the floor as he again stood, straightening his coat and wiping his eyes. He managed to get his breathing back to normal and silently left his room, turning off the stove and stopping the kettle’s screaming. He apparated to the wedding.

There was a small tent in a grassy field, and there were fairy lights strung up around the insides. Scarlett silk scarves were hung around the lights, intertwining and twirling with them as if they were mermaids playing underwater, spinning around each other. The venue was beautiful, for sure. Small, quiet, yet beautiful. There was a grand piano in the corner of the room, and Sirius immediately recognized it as the one he’d grown up playing. Resources must’ve been tight if they’d had to take the piano from Grimmauld Place. On top of it was a vase of orange flowers. Sirius took to his post like a soldier amidst a war, eyes straight ahead, face blank. He would show no pain.

Everyone knew music was Sirius’s trade, and when Tonks had asked him to be the pianist for the wedding, he’d heedlessly agreed. Anything to avoid standing next to Remus as he recited vows to her instead of him. Anything to avoid having to face him today. But as it was, such a desirable outcome as just playing the music and leaving could never have happened. Not with them.

Sirius was lost in the very concept that music could calm him, used to calm him, did calm him. It was one of the only escapes from the mayhem of 12 Grimmauld Place, this old Grand Piano from the second floor. It was the only thing his parents pushed him to do that he actually liked. He remembered playing Für Elise over and over as a small child. He remembered having the slamming of doors and screaming as background music to the pieces he played. He remembered trying to drown out the words his mother spat out at him about his “filthy blood-traitor friends” with Sonate au Clair de Lune.

He aligned his fingers on the ivory keys and eyed over the sheet music left for him. The Wedding March and a few other pieces were spread across the top of the piano. He cleared his throat and looked up, finding that people were beginning to apparate into the venue. Sirius had been told that there would only be about 20 people in attendance, and he counted 12. A lump formed in his throat.

Once everyone had arrived, they began the ceremony. Remus had entered from a side door, and was all spruce-looking in his dress robes. Sirius allowed himself to look for a few seconds, but tore his eyes away once Remus’s eyes met his. He focused on the music. Tonks would be entering any minute, he reckoned.

He remembered one stormy October night all those years ago, in their apartment, when Sirius had played cheerful tunes. He remembered his fingers masterfully playing Puttin’ on the Ritz from memory, and Remus laughing drunkenly and dancing along. He remembered how smoothly and masterfully he’d played then, how Remus always told him how beautiful his hands were.

Tonks emerged in a white and orange dress that looked like something a 13-year-old would pick out for a school dance. (The girl never did have much of a fashion sense.)

As he began playing Wedding March, Sirius’s masterful, expert hands began shaking, like his sobs would have been shaking his body if he wasn’t willing himself to have so much self-control. Every bone in his body was filled with sorrow. His veins weren’t pumping blood, but melancholy. Each breath he took was rejection, dejection and he wanted so desperately to asphyxiate. He swallowed and his eyes went steely as he played. He blinked harshly and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He would not break. No, not now. _Soldier at his post_ , Sirius reminded himself.

He didn’t look at Remus, nor Tonks, as they recited their vows. He winced as the pastor said, “You may kiss the bride.”

Back in third year, he’d realized his crush on Remus. He was thirteen. Now, he was thirty-seven. “Oh, I’m sure it’ll blow over,” Prongs had told him.

And boy, did it blow over. In fact, it blew over him so hard that it caught him in a whirlwind, sweeping him up into the sky and away from the safety of the ground. He was caught up in the air for such a long time, grasping for some sense of security in the brutal tornado that was love. He was swept up and for a brief time, he’d landed in the wonderland of Oz, but the realization that he’d never love anyone quite like he’d loved Remus woke him up to Auntie Em’s concerned gaze, and it had just blown over like a bad dream.

At least, it had for Remus.

But after twenty-four years, there was no way it would ever just blow over for Sirius, could ever just blow over for Sirius.

His hands were still shaking.

Shaking.

Shaking.

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/112886025809/.
> 
> "person b was about to propose to person a, but person c got ahead of b. person b became the pianist for the wedding, fingers trembling from the heartbreak and self-control."
> 
> person a: remus  
> person b: sirius  
> person c: tonks
> 
> hope you liked it :)))) and as always, feedback is much appreciated!!


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